Chapitre 103: 23. Africa.
I focused my mind and began to gather myself together, questioning Damon's motives. What the hell was he thinking? To delve into those memories and leave them untouched? Regardless, I was determined to find solace in the fighting hall.
As I entered the private space, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination, I started my vigorous workout. Punching, kicking, and grappling, I pushed myself to the limit. Afterward, I headed out for a quick dinner before returning to the gym.
The third time around, as I emerged from the locker room, Salvatore sat on a bench, his gaze fixed on me. I longed to retort with cutting words, but the furrowed brow indicated he had already glimpsed my thoughts. No need to waste time speaking aloud. Without a word, I resumed my workout, aware of Damon's watchful eyes.
Eventually, he spoke up, voicing his doubts. "You can unleash your fury on that bag, kick, and wrestle all you want, but it won't make a difference. That sack isn't Sark, nor is it the Polish scientist. I admit, I went too far, pushing you beyond limits. I betrayed you. Instead of dispelling, I unearthed the darkest memories, and now you bury them wherever you can. But I've marked each one, so no matter where you hide them, I will uncover their location, assist you, and dispel them. However, there's no rush."
He paused, waiting for my response, before continuing my training regimen. I remained silent, allowing him to dig up those memories once again. Best of luck. This place is well-protected, and not easily breached. I had reinforced its defenses after his foolish actions, leveraging my powers as a siphon. If I'm twisted enough, I could extract his petty tags from those memories. It would be a satisfying victory, 1-0 for that jerk.
I continued my intense training, sweat dripping down my forehead as Damon watched me intently. I could feel his penetrating gaze, as if he was delving into the depths of my thoughts. Thankfully, there were no issues there anymore; I had sorted out my thoughts with the help of Lepard and others. However, a part of me knew Damon could still find excitement and adventure within my mind if he desired.
In a mischievous mood, my thoughts wandered back to the six weeks I spent with the foursome. Memories flooded my mind of being taken, and the wildness that consumed us. It was a clever tactic, reminiscing about my passionate, raw sex with others, to push Damon away.
Just as I was lost in my thoughts, the sound of the door closing caught my attention, and I snapped back to reality. Salvatore had walked out of the room, reminding me that forgiveness was not something I was ready to offer just yet. It would take time.
After my grueling session at the gym, I decided to replenish my energy by eating. Once satisfied, I planned to unwind by watching TV. Somewhere in between, I thought it would be a good idea to do some warehouse work and organize my orders. I wanted to prove to this frustrating pack that I, too, could react and that I should react.
The moment Damon had nearly entered the gym, assuming I would remain calm and collected, I pulled my emotions to the surface, determined not to let them stay buried. My reactions would be erratic and long-lasting, a testament to how new it was for me to allow myself to truly feel and react. It had become a constant internal struggle for me, as for so long, I had trained myself not to react, to shield myself from the overwhelming power of emotions.
It would take time and perseverance for everyone to learn new me. The one who reacted and, since I had rarely done that, I was not good at this. I lashed out and used nasty ways to get my message across. I played as dirty as ever and it might be that in time, well, either they would get used to my crazy reactions or then they would demand I not to react. There was not really between here.
Mariella observed Damon's disappointed expression as he returned, his shoulders slumped. She noticed the change in Mimi's demeanor towards him, a clear sign she wasn't in a pleasant mood. Mariella couldn't help but wonder what was going on in Mimi's mind.
Mimi possessed some kind of mind shield, allowing her to keep her thoughts hidden from the telepaths in the pack. Dealing with an alpha female like Mimi, who was strong-willed and stubborn, made it crucial for Damon to have some advance warning if she had any plans brewing.
Mariella understood that before addressing Mimi, she needed to help Damon overcome his disappointment, self-hatred, and anger. It wouldn't be an easy task, but Mariella knew her role was to support Damon. She hoped that engaging in a good, rough bout of animalistic sex would allow him to release these negative emotions.
Over the years, they had spent countless hours in bed, not just indulging in physical intimacy, but also engaging in heartfelt conversations. These conversations played a significant role in their emotional unloading. Mariella contemplated finding a way to help Mimi do the same, but she suspected Mimi might be reluctant to let Damon assist her.
After a week of hardcore rough sex which was still smelling in the air, lying beside Damon, Mariella caressed him gently, her touch soothing and comforting.
She spoke softly, her voice carrying a dreamlike quality. "Damon, what if I have a conversation with Mimi again? Perhaps I can understand her perspective and find a way to untangle this situation."
Damon grunted, his face devoid of a genuine smile, burdened by his own greed and mistake.
He replied, "Time is what we need most. Maybe, somewhere in between, we'll find the right solution. Go ahead and talk, as you always want to do."
Mariella let out a heavy sigh, her heart aching at the sight of his deep despair. Lessons were never easy, and she despised seeing him like this. Gathering herself, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the shower where Damon awaited her, his passion and desire still clear. With utmost care, he selected her clothes and assisted her in dressing, delicately arranging her hair before she departed to confront the daunting dragon.
Deep down, Mariella understood Mimi's right to her emotions and the importance of her reaction. However, Mimi's chaotic nature had always suppressed her responses, leaving Mariella with the task of teaching her how to react. In her mind, it had to be Damon who guided Mimi. Determined, Mariella set off on her quest to find Mimi.
Tracking her elusive friend was no simple task, but Mariella possessed a cunning spell that led her by the faint scent of strawberries and gunpowder - the unmistakable fragrance of Mimi's seething rage. Eventually, Mariella arrived at her destination. She was irritated by this room and she tried to control herself.
Mimi was nestled in a breathtaking room on the highest floor, engrossed in a movie. The space exuded an undeniable beauty, adorned with a generous bed, vibrant silk carpets of various hues, and rich blood-red curtains. However, amidst the splendor, the room still bore Mimi's signature touch. Aware of Damon's observance, Mariella instinctively assumed the appropriate demeanor.
Mimi was donned in a loose, pink cotton dress, her long red hair cascading freely. Having showered at some point, she had neglected to brush her tresses.
Lying on the bed, Mimi's gaze fixated on Mariella as she entered the room.
"Oh my, Mimi, what an exquisite room," Mariella exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "It's absolutely stunning, and here you are, all alone. I came to check on you and see what you were up to..."
I looked up from the TV screen, my eyes scanning the room as the familiar theme song of Mission Impossible played in the background. The scent of nostalgia filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of Mariella's perfume. I paused the show, my fingers gripping the remote tightly, as if holding onto a lifeline. These old episodes were my comfort, my sanctuary in a chaotic world. This was from 1988 and there were only two seasons in this series, yet this was my comfort show. One thing that was once part of my human life.
I turned to Mariella, her innocent expression masking her true intentions. I let out a weary sigh, realizing what she had come for. It was easy to guess because this was her bravura, come to try to explain to me why Damon did what he did.
"You came to sell Damon, didn't you?" I said, my voice tinged with resignation. "No, thank you. I understand, but I need time to process. My reactions aren't normal, and it might take a while."
Mariella's face contorted into a frown, her eyes pleading for understanding.
"No, I'm not selling Damon," she protested. "I just want to hear your side of the story. It's important for you to react, but you also need to learn to communicate. Tell me why you're still so angry at him. I mean, what he did was terrible, but you've been through worse. He's genuinely sorry and wants to help."
I glanced at Mariella, rolling my eyes before meeting her gaze. She was looking at me all innocently and wanting to understand. Fine, I could make her understand, and then do what I had to. Protect the pack.
With a heavy sigh, I finally relented. "The reason I'm so pissed off is because of a memory," I confessed. "A single, damn memory that I fought tooth and nail to keep away from Damon. Do you want to hear it? Fine, but it's a dark one, something that could haunt Damon's mind. I have my ways of keeping telepaths out, but you have to be sure."
Mariella moved closer, sitting beside me on the bed. She wore a slight frown, her voice filled with unwavering trust in Damon's resilience.
"Damon is strong," she said softly. "He can handle it, no matter how bad."
Her words struck a chord within me, reminding me of the need to protect my pack. I couldn't bear to traumatize them any further with my struggles. I would do what I had to do, but it was good to tell someone, even if they would have no memory. I knew this because it had been a real release for me to take Wulfe and Murdock to Lake Lanier and share that burden with them. So, in a way, I was sharing my burden with Mariella. Even I knew she could not bear this and I would have to take it away from her.
I let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool hardwood floor beneath my bare feet. The room was dimly lit, with soft rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains. I had taken precautions to ensure our privacy, placing protective crystals around the room to create a telepathic barrier.
Walking over to the old wooden shelves, I ran my fingers along the smooth surface before reaching for the two special crystals. They were ruby red and light blue, cool to the touch, their facets glimmering in the faint light. I activate them with my touch. These had been bespelled by Wulfe. I had used them many times during those seven years, so this was nothing new to me. Returning to the bed, I settled myself into a comfortable position and locked eyes with Mariella.
"Now," I began, my voice steady but tinged with weariness, "he or any of the salvatores can't hear us. But do you want to hear the worst of it straight out?"
Mariella nodded, her eyes filled with anticipation. Just then, I heard muffled footsteps from beyond the soundproofed door. Our husband was clearly displeased with his blocked telepathy. it seems that when his telepathy was blocked; he had come to see if he could hear anything. Well, he could not. Those crystals, plus padding onto the door, ensured our privacy.
Glancing at Mariella, her innocence and sweetness contrasting with the weight of my experiences, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my age. Though not as old as Damon, the hardships I had endured had aged me prematurely. It was damn hard sometimes, and I felt ancient.
I felt lonely, too powerful for anyone to really get me, and I knew I was about 200 years old or something like that, but still. Mariella would be about 100 herself as well. I had never kept any memos about how long it had been. Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the bed and swallowed hard before continuing.
"Damien had a son," I revealed, the words hanging heavy in the air. "His father's son. A master of torture, skilled beyond belief."
Mariella paled, her shock evident as her voice trembled. "You said he was...in the past tense, he is..."
I nodded solemnly, confirming her words. "Dead, yes. I killed him myself. I can't say for certain if he truly was Damien's son, but that's what he claimed. I just hope he didn't have any plans in place like his father did."
Mariella fell silent, her brows furrowing as she focused. She took a little better position, tapped the bed next to her, and looked at me.
With a newfound strength in her voice, she said, "I can guarantee Damon won't hear anything, but I sense a deeply rotten memory. Come, sit beside me on this bed and share."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone